


Frail

by FedonCiadale



Series: A thousand eyes and one [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 22:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21107423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FedonCiadale/pseuds/FedonCiadale
Summary: Sansa and Jon have the shadow of a plan...





	Frail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [direwolfjon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/direwolfjon/gifts).

> I was tagged for this by flibbertigibbet, with the prompt "frail". It seems a bit lame to use the prompt for the title, but I think it fits.  
I tag sansaswildlinglover with the prompt 'childhood'.

Jon returned in spring. Sansa made a show of greeting him with a visible frown and chided him that the Watch had not been sparing enough with the supplies.

Jon looked contrite and explained, that an unusual amount of rat and mice had plagued the Free Folk and plundered their supplies.

“We didn’t want them to starve,” he said.

That raised some murmurs from Northern Lords who had no love for the Free folk.

Sansa raised her hand, and they grew silent.

She looked around. “Hungry people are dangerous. Remember, my lords, that we do not want a war.”

She did not dare to even look Jon’s way her mind reeling with questions that haunted her. Sansa suppressed a shudder.

_Is he behind that? Is he after First men’s blood in the Free folk? Does he want to annihilate them? Or is this happenstance?_

She often wondered, why she and Jon were still alive. Her mind told her, that Bloodraven wanted to play with them or that he was not yet ready to take them out and let the North slide into chaos. Her stupid heart told her otherwise. Her hope told her that Bran was still there, somewhere, deep down. She could not help herself. As often as she stamped on her hope, it raised its head again.

Sansa did only ask after Tormund after Lord Royce had commented on his absence. It would not be good to draw too much attention to his absence.

“Tormund started a journey in the middle of winter to get food for his people,” Jon answered and shrugged as if he did not really care. “Crazy mission.”

Sansa hoped that Tormund’s luck would not run out. That the loud man and his fire kissed hair was not important enough to be worth Bloodraven’s time. That he would find Arya. _We cannot hope to do this alone._

\----

As usual they met on moonless nights and planned, hatching their plans only by trading hushed words from mouth to ear.

“Ghost is mine”, Jon whispered, his lips touching Sansa’s earlobe, “at least as long as I warg him. It should be safe, if you try with Ghost.”

They had the shadow of a plan, a risky plan, but better that than just accepting their fate. But the fear was a constant companion to Sansa.

“But what if I succeed in warging Ghost and he enters later and realises it? If he can feel a remainder, an echo of my presence. Won’t he become suspicious?”

“Suspicion is his nature. He is already suspicious. Remember we want him suspicious.”

“But not yet. What if Tormund never finds Arya.”

“Sansa,” Jon bent towards her and kissed her cheek, light like a feather. “I won’t tell you to not be afraid, because I am afraid. All the time.”

Sansa could feel her eyes beginning to swim. She pressed Jon’s hand.

“It is worse than the Walkers,” she whispered. “The Walkers would just have taken my body. He…. “

She stopped, willing her lover to understand her.

_If he wargs a person, what happens? Would I be condemned to silence to be a watcher of what Bloodraven does with me? Would I still own my mind, my soul?_

Somehow, she doubted that.

“I held on to myself, although they wanted to make me a Lannister, a Bolton, Littlefinger wanted to make me his. It drives me mad, the fear, that I might lose myself, that I might become just a vessel.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I know, we share this fear.”

Jon stayed silent for a time. Then he pressed her hand.

Sansa raised her other hand to her face and angrily rubbed her tears away. When she was with Jon, she wanted to share her fears, but she also wanted to forget about them to bask in the light of his love, to get the strength she needed and give Jon some strength in return.

Jon sensed her mood, he kissed the tears that hung to her lashes away and they held each other and made love until Sansa could feel a glow in her chest that warmed her. She didn’t know how it happened, but when she was with Jon at one point, she would shed her fear, her stress, her grief and would be alive in the moment, an all too short bliss that kept her going.

\---

The next morning, she heard claws scraping against her door. Ghost stood in front of the door, his right paw tapped on her right foot. Three times, then twice on her left. But Sansa knew already that Jon had warged into the wolf.

“Did your master let you roam the castle again,” she chided the wolf, just in case some servant would listen. There was no heat in her voice though, and Ghost opened his mouth, letting his tongue loll as if he was eager. Sansa led Ghost inside and sat down by the fire the maid had started against the morning cold.

Sansa inhaled deeply trying to rule her fear and her worries. She had to train, and Ghost was the best option. She remembered the times she had felt a vague kinship and an understanding for her cat. She plunged into Ghost as if jumping into a pool of icy water.

She thought she felt Jon, tugging at her, drawing her in and, suddenly, she could see herself, sitting in her chair, some of the fire’s light reflecting in her hair. She almost was overwhelmed by the sudden impact of smells that reached her. She also felt something like wonder at the woman that sat at the fire, at her beauty and her courage. She was puzzled about that, until she realised that Jon was still in Ghost as well and that it was his feelings that brushed her mind.

_It worked. It worked. We can share warging._

The rush of excitement hit her so hard, that she was driven out of Ghost. She was in her body again, looking at her hands.

She bent down to Ghost and petted the wolf, rubbing his ears.

“Septon Barth wrote that this needs training,” she risked whispering. Then she stood and opened the door.

“Jon really should not let you wander about,” she said loudly even before she saw the dark-haired maid that approached her door with a basin with water that steamed.

She knew Maggy, and was not particularly suspicious about her, but she was glad that she had not let her guard down.

While she let the maid help her with getting up and dressing, she felt strange, as is she was not fully in her body. It took her a while to name her feeling, because it had been so long ago, that she had felt it, really felt it.

As thin and frail as the steam that rose from the hot water. But it was there. _Stronger than just_ _hope. A tiny shred of confidence._


End file.
